


DC4: Under the Tree

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: Under a Tree: A train ride strands the guys, what are they to do?Destiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. what does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC4: Under the Tree

“Under the Tree...”

 

Heart shaped, jagged edged leaves the color of green apples stirred in the hot wind sounding like a distant running creek. The tree’s thick, twisted limbs stretched out at odd angles, having grown battling the prairie wind. Luckily the leaves thick canopy were creating a black pool of shade which was creeping ever eastward.

From where he lay under the tree, watching the fluttering leaves, Kid Curry heard his partner sigh and the brush of fabric against fabric. A trace of a smile flitted across Curry’s face, knowing the watch had been checked again and returned to its inside pocket. “So, what time is it… now?”

“Four, we’ve been here—“

“Six hours,” Curry’s blue eyes trailed to his best friend and only family member and on to the others sitting in the shade. “Told you we should have stayed ‘till Sunday.”

Hannibal Heyes dimples dipped as he frowned and leaning closer, he hissed, “didn’t’ like the way that boy kept showing up.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I realize that. But, what if he decided not to play by the rules.”

Curry’s face furrowed and he sat up, scootching hip to hip with his cousin, “there’s rules to gunfighting. Hmm, do tell?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, stop looking at me that way. You full well know what I mean.”

A low chuckle rolled from Curry, “Not sure that I do. Why don’t you explain ‘em to me??”

Heyes mouth pinched to a flat line and then he was on his feet, smooth and quick as a rattler would strike.

“What are you fixin’ to do?”

“Taking a walk.”

“Steer clear of that fireman; I didn’t care for how he was watching you earlier.”

Pulling his black hat down snug, Heyes nodded, but his eyes were slanting toward the engine the train men were laboriously disassembling. And, watching him Curry could read the outright curiosity in his partner’s gaze.

“He was lookin’ at you like your name was on the tip of his tongue and he couldn’t quite catch hold of it.”

Hannibal Heyes sucked in his lower lip, his face turning toward the engine.

“Don’t go inviting trouble.”

Finally, there was a slight nod, accompanied by an even slighter slump to the Heyes’ broad shoulders. The muscles that had tightened along Curry’s spine eased, knowing his cousin was not going to approach the stalled engine.

Looking down, Heyes exhaled and without a word, turned away. His long legs took him out to the rails gleaming silver-blue in the afternoon sun. Watching him, Curry plucked a strand of long grass and chewing on the end, he watched his cousin following his own shadow, stretching out long and black in front of him.

“Your pal oughta stay put and conserve his energy.”

Curry turned to face the old timer, who had spoken, “been telling him the same for years.”

“How many walks, he planning to take?”

Curry’s wide, boyish smile appeared, “too many. He gets nervy when there’s nothing to do.”

“Had me a younger brother like that. Times were he would wear me out just watchin’ em.”

Curry nodded, the long strand of grass hanging from his mouth bobbing like it was still out on the prairie before the ever present wind.

“William Barton,” the man said, extending a time worn, veined hand to Curry.

“James,” Curry responded, shaking the man’s hand.

Barton eyes, buried behind a mass of wrinkles, slanted to the Colt strapped to Curry’s thigh, “Ya first name ain’t Jesse, is it?”

A true rumbling laugh rolled from Curry, “No, I’m Milo.”

“Never heard of a Milo James.”

“That’d be because; I haven’t done anything worth hearing.”

“Well, you’re still young.”

 “What do you mean?”

“A man needs to leave his mark on this world.” William Barton raised his chin, looking harder at Curry, “you got the look of a man who has sand. Once you get out there,” he waved his hand toward the western horizon, “you’ll make your mark.”

“Suppose so.” Curry looked at the grass between his boots, “course first, Union Pacific over there, needs to get me and the rest of us rolling again.”

“Patience, Milo, I have seen these trains break down plenty o’ times.”

 “Oh, I got patience. It’s him, I’m worried about.” He flicked his hand out to his partner, who he saw was standing stock still a good ways down the line. Curry’s blue eyes squinted and he stood up, even further down the line he could see black smoke against the horizon. “Looks to be another train coming.”

All around him, the hot, tired, hungry, frustrated passengers released grumbles and mutterings of relief. Each began climbing to their feet. Curry reached out a hand to Barton.

“Fine where I’m at.” Barton nodded toward the stalled train. “It’ll be a while yet, that crew will look over the engine before they do anything else.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I used to work for ‘em.”

Curry swallowed hard, “you did.”

“Yup, I was a survey man. You could say the mark, I done left, was laying the trail for these rails to follow.”

“You don’t say.”

“Came out here when the Indians were wild and the land untamed. Come back down here, you're givin’ me a crick in my neck.”

Grinning, Curry dropped into a squat. The approaching engine’s whistle squealed, the high pitch wail pealing through the heated air. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw his cousin raise his hat to the train as it passed him on his walk back.

Two hours later, even more pieces of the stalled engine black metal were spread out along the rail bed and at least, twenty Union Pacific men were crawling all over the dissected beasts. Heyes exhaled hard, he was tired of sitting, tired of the clanking noise of the tools at work, and tired of hearing about how the West used to be from Barton. Uncoiling from the ground, he took off his hat, ran a hand back through his hair, and looked around.

“Hey, Mister Barton, what if they can’t fix it?”

“They’ll load us up on them cars and reverse back to Wichita.”

A snort exploded from Curry, “you don’t say.”

Heyes’ dark eyes narrowed and he pivoted on his heel.

“Must be time for another walk.”

“Like I said, Mr. Barton, he gets nervy.”

“Yup, like that brother of mine.”

“If you were a survey man, what did he become?”

“Gerald, he got himself shot dead. Always poking his nose in where people did not want it. Told ‘em that, too. Didn’t do me no good.”

Curry swallowed hard again, his eyes swinging to his cousin who was standing with his hands on his hips, just outside of the work area of the Union Pacific crew.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
